


Three's a Crowd

by Lookingkindofdumb



Series: Modern Police AU [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: 3 times people thought Constance was cheating on Jacques, 3+1, Everyday Life, Modern Police AU, Musketeers are Police officers, No infidelity in this fic maybe the next one, Or the threesome that shouldn't work, Other, Red Guard are FBI, Threesome, and 1 time they realised Jacques was in on it, kidding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:13:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lookingkindofdumb/pseuds/Lookingkindofdumb
Summary: Three times people thought Constance was cheating on Jacques with d'Artagnan and one time they realised they were all dating each other.
Relationships: d'Artagnan/Constance/Bonacieux
Series: Modern Police AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636570
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	Three's a Crowd

**Author's Note:**

> Random silly snippet I churned out. Hoping to make this part of a Modern Police AU with an actual case not just slice of life but so far this is just a 3+1 fic slice of life for the happy threesome.
> 
> 3+1 times people think Constance and d'Artagnan are having an affair behind Bonacieux's back and one time they realise the three are together.

"You know, when I first joined the police I did think there would be a little more action." Aramis muses, scratching his chin as he idly fills out another requisition form while coming up with the correct wording for why, exactly, he had to discharge his gun on the case two weeks ago. In the heat of the moment he knows precisely that he had to, but when writing it down for the paperwork it all seems so...nebulous.

How to put in words the feeling when you have your suspect cornered after a chase, your heart pumping strong, the fear heady like good wine when one of your fellow officers is held at knife point, the blade pressing into a delicate throat? How to describe the thick of a scuffle, where everyone is everywhere and you can only do your best to keep yourself and your fellow officers alive? Aramis had one shot; he never misses.

"Didn't we all." Porthos sighs, straightening out a lopsided paper plane and starting again.

"You have no course to complain." Aramis accuses, eyes narrowed. His dear friend is a machine, there must be an explanation for the fact he has finished his paperwork while Aramis is hopelessly behind.

"What can I say?" Porthos shrugs, smugly. "I know how to delegate. Isn't that right, rookie?" Porthos shoots a grin to their newest recruit. d'Artagnan doesn't even lift his head to shoot Porthos a rude gesture with his free hand.

"One day he'll learn not to play cards with you and then you'll have to do your own paperwork." Aramis sniffs.

"That day has not yet come." Porthos says happily. Aramis eyes d'Artagnan speculatively. Despite the fact he's doing two sets of paperwork for the foreseeable future he's already worked through a good chunk. Fast, Aramis thinks approvingly, the kid is good.

"Don't even think about it." d'Artagnan warns, finally lifting his head to scowl at Aramis through his dark hair.

"Don't think about what, my friend?" Aramis asks, with faux injury.

"I'm not doing your paperwork too. It's bad enough I fell for Porthos' ruse." He turns to Porthos, "One day I am going to work out how you cheat." He warns narrowly.

"I'm looking forward to it." Porthos says with the smug certainty that it won't happen for a long, long while and it will be down to his future self to deal with.

"But you are so good at it." Aramis widens his eyes at d'Artagnan beseechingly. d'Artagnan looks at him flatly. "It will be good practice!" Aramis changes tracks. d'Artagnan doesn't bother to respond, just speeds through his paperwork like the commissioner is breathing down his neck.

"Why are you so eager to foist off your paperwork? Got somewhere to be?" Porthos waggles his eyebrows.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Take pity on a man who just wants to be on time for his date." Aramis asks, plaintive.

"You're not the only one who has somewhere to be." d'Artagnan says, making a rookie mistake: Aramis senses blood in the water.

"Oh, ho, a hot date! Let me guess, it wouldn't perchance, be with the lovely Constance, would it? I hear her husband is in Milan at the moment." Aramis drags his chair (he swiped the swivel chair fair and square, it is his now) and plonks himself down next to their rookie in time to catch the flush creeping up his cheeks.

"Jacques is due home tonight." d'Artagnan says, trying to focus on his paperwork rather than Aramis' intense stare. Aramis will break him, their rookie isn't yet used to him to withstand his version of interrogation. 

"Ah, so you have little time to yourself with the lady, must make the most of it." Aramis concludes. d'Artagnan stares at him, looking confused.

"I do like spending time with Constance." d'Artagnan says, a frown crinkling his brow.

"We've all been there. Sometimes married women are irresistible. And Constance is a fine woman." Aramis grins as d'Artagnan tries futilely to rub his blush away. 

"To you all married women are irresistible." Porthos winks.

"I'll give you some tips in return for some of my paperwork." Aramis offers generously. Both Porthos and d'Artagnan snort, unfair, he resents their aspirations of his good name - Aramis calls foul.

"Athos said he'd stick me with dumpster duty if I got tricked into doing any more paperwork. He was really annoyed when he had to help me fill out the form for bodily harm, you know, when Porthos popped the guy and dislocated his finger." d'Artagnan says, pulling in the parents as a last ditch resort. 

"Athos did some of your paperwork." 

"Well blow me."

Aramis and Porthos speak at the same time, staring at their rookie.

Athos is the worst at doing paperwork, they all hate it but Athos seems to find doing it a personal insult, like it stabbed him in the gut and then insulted his mother for good measure.

"What?" d'Artagnan frowns at them.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you." Aramis murmurs, still blindsided. He shares a look with Porthos. This is unprecedented. They knew Athos had a soft spot for the rookie (it's hard not to, no one is immune to that face) but so much so as to do extra paperwork without foisting the boy off on to them or Treville? A miracle.

"Who's the date with?" Porthos asks as he (excellent friend he is) takes a stack of paperwork from Aramis' pile and starts filling it out.

"You, my friend, are a king amongst us mere men. A man of stature we should all seek to emulate." Aramis smiles winningly. Porthos snorts at him.

"You owe me, next time I want to slip out early you are picking up the slack and explaining to Athos. Plus you're swapping one of my night shifts." Porthos states because he is a cruel, cruel man. Aramis pulls a face but a glance at the clock has him hunching over the rest of his stack and scribbling as fast as his brain will let him. Porthos probably waited until he was desperate before offering his bargain, just so Aramis would accept without haggling. Porthos is a canny, canny man and Aramis will get back at him. Probably by offering a humiliating excuse when he slips out early and Athos enquires as to where he has gone.

Yes, that will do nicely. Still, _night shift._ Awful, awful things. They should be banned in Aramis' humble opinion.

At five on the dot the lovely Constance appears, because if anyone in the station can leave on time with all their work done (a minor miracle) it is Constance. Aramis will freely admit her competence is out of the world. She's a wonderful woman. With a soft spot for rookies, it seems. Or, at least, their particular rookie.

"Finished yet?" She asks, coming over to d'Artagnan's desk. 

"Nearly." d'Artagnan smiles at her so brightly that Aramis feels all aflutter at the look despite it not being directed at him. Ah, young love.

"Shift over and pass some here." Constance sighs, nudging d'Artagnan so they are perched on the same chair. d'Artagnan gives her an adoring smile.

"You are the most amazing woman in the whole of France." d'Artagnan says fervently.

"Hush, you, we'll be late if you don't hurry. Jacques's flight lands soon." 

Porthos and Aramis share a look but say nothing. It's a risky thing, living in the same house as the married couple when you are having an affair with the wife. Aramis wonders when d'Artagnan is going to need to kip on his couch - he's going to get caught sooner rather than later and then he’ll be homeless.

With Constance's help the pair manage to finish in under half an hour, record timing. But with an incentive like that, Aramis can't blame the lad.

"Don't forget your hat." Constance says, brushing off said hat and handing it to d'Artagnan who sighs but accepts it. Aramis smothers a laugh at the woeful expression.

"Will we be late?" He hears d'Artagnan ask as Constance ushers him out the precinct.

"Depends how long it takes for his baggage, we'll see." She says.

"It's nice to be able to come with you to pick him up from the airport for once." d'Artagnan says before they stroll out of sight.

Aramis shares a perplexed look with Porthos, what does that mean?

#

They have to keep an eye on d'Artagnan after skirmishes. The lad is very good at not seeming to notice his injuries. Or, more likely, he notices them then forgets them in the thrill of the chase.

It's only after the fighting is done that he drops (sometimes literally, which leads to yet more _paperwork_ ) and you realise he's been running around with a broken rib or, memorably, a stab wound.

"Use your head, not your heart." Athos scolds, brushing a hand over d'Artagnan's forehead, asserting just enough pressure that the rookie lies back flat on the hospital cot.

This time it was stitches in the arm and guiltily Aramis feels a little relieved. He doesn't think the lad could come back from yet another knock to the head. Even d'Artagnan's skull is only so thick.

"But Aramis keeps telling me not to get my head knocked about." d'Artagnan responds because his humour is highly suspect.

"I think I'll amend that to the rest of your body as well." Aramis says dryly as he looks over the prescribed pills. "Take these with a meal. Do not have them on an empty stomach." 

"Yes sir."

"That was the sloppiest salute I've ever seen. And I was in the army." Aramis says with an unimpressed look.

"Now that's a bit harsh. What about what's his face? Red hair, long face...Martin! That's it. After that border skirmish." Porthos grins.

"Cadet Martin had a fractured ulna." Aramis points out dryly, "besides, he still pulled it off better."

A nurse pulling aside the curtain interrupts any retort d'Artagnan was responding with.

"A man here to take Officer d'Artagnan home?" She asks, surprised to see three men standing around d'Artagnan's bedside. They share a look.

"I called Constance." Porthos offers as the curtain twitches again and Jacques appears. He's as neatly dressed as ever but one of the buttons on his neat black coat is in the wrong hole and for once his hair looks windswept.

"Constance rang me, she's busy." Jacques says, leaning past them to catch a glimpse of d'Artagnan. He winces.

Aramis and Porthos share a look. Well, this isn't awkward. The really depressing thing is, Jacques looks honestly concerned about d'Artagnan, upset that he is in pain. For the first time Aramis feels uncomfortable with the thought that d'Artagnan and Constance are having an affair. It will hurt the man to find out what his wife and lodger are getting up to.

d'Artagnan does not seem to share this guilt (or he is a better actor than Aramis has ever given him credit for) for his smile is warm, pleased even. It's not as bright as the smiles he sends towards Constance but there is an underlying sunny warmth to it.

"You have got to be more careful, you know how concerned Constance gets." Jacques scolds, reaching out to tuck a lock of hair behind d'Artagnan's ear.

"I didn't mean to worry you." d'Artagnan says, earnestly. Jacques looks away.

"I'm used to it. Between you and Constance I'm sure I'll go grey before my time." 

"Then you'll be very distinguished." d'Artagnan grins, sitting up. He accepts the arm Athos offers and gets to his feet.

"What's the damage? Constance only mentioned you were getting stitches when she told me to pick you up." Jacques inquires watching in concern.

"Arm. It's just a-"

"If you say it is just a flesh wound I will tell Constance what happened to her favourite set of dinner plates." Jacques warns. d'Artagnan shuts his mouth with a click.

"Have you got any medications to take? Anything to protect against infection?" Jacques presses looking round expectantly. Aramis holds up the small box of tablets. Jacques reaches out for them and scans the information leaflet.

"You'll take these with a meal. I think we've got some leftover stew in the fridge." Jacques says.

"I know, Aramis told me." d'Artagnan says tolerantly.

"Thank you for taking care of him." Jacques addresses them all, a little stiffly but sincere.

"I think that's our line." Aramis smiles, as they load d'Artagnan into the man's car.

“Your hat.” Athos says, placing d’Artagnan’s hat on his lap. D’Artagnan frowns at the thing like it’s very presence is offensive.

“Thanks.” He says grudgingly, not sounding thankful at all. Porthos laughs. d’Artagnan’s hatred of his hat is a well known thing around the station. Aramis has personally seen d’Artagnan fail to get rid of it four times and counting. He’s only had this one for a week.

"At least we know someone's watching over him for the time being." Athos says as the car leaves the hospital car park.

"That was the most awkward encounter I've had since a lovely young woman I knew allowed her five irritating dogs to _watch_."

Athos turns on his heel and leaves, shaking his head. Porthos shrugs at him.

#

"They're playing with fire." Porthos murmurs. Aramis doesn't need to look at the dance floor to know where Porthos is looking.

"Lovely watching them though." Aramis sighs. Constance takes a moment to dip d'Artagnan. It should be comical, the difference in their heights, but they both look so happy, so bright that it is anything but. Enjoyment has always been the best thing to turn on the spotlight and when in each other’s company d'Artagnan and Constance are truly radiant.

"Jacques is around somewhere, I'd rather not end up in the station on one of my days off." Porthos grumbles. He's happy for d'Artagnan and Constance, Aramis can tell but it wouldn't hurt for the two to be a little more discrete. At least to preserve a little of Jacques dignity.

"Play interference?" Aramis ponders. Porthos shakes his head.

"Experience is the best teacher."

"Cruel." Aramis sighs.

"Practical." Porthos disagrees. "At least we're here to mediate."

"True." 

They watch as d'Artagnan and Constance spin off to the side of the makeshift dance floor (the pub doesn't have a designated dance space but when one couple starts, more join). Constance kisses d'Artagnan on the cheek and heads off to the bar. A figure approaches d'Artagnan and Aramis stiffens. It seems the revelation will happen sooner, rather than later.

They head over - as Porthos said, avoiding fisticuffs would be for the best.

But it seems, impossibly, Jacques still does not know. Not from the way he and d'Artagnan are chatting away, leaning against one another companionably. Constance joins them bearing aloft three drinks and greeting them both with a kiss to the cheek.

"He must be the luckiest man alive." Aramis says, eyebrow raised. Though he, again, feels a twinge of second hand guilt for Jacques. The poor man.

Well on the bright side, at least Aramis no longer feels a smidgen of remorse for super gluing d’Artagnan’s hat to his desk. 

#

It's the yearly non-denominational party at the precinct. Everyone calls it the 'Christmas Ball' because well, there is a Christmas tree.

Aramis usually has a grand time, lovely women to talk to, his friends around him and, most importantly, lots of booze.

He laughs as he spots Athos being dragged around in Ninon's wake. She's a force to reckon with and Athos always looks like someone's whacked him over the head when she pulls him along. Ninon is excellent at pulling Athos out of his own head and at keeping Milady at bay whenever she decides to con her way in.

Porthos slips an intimidatingly large flask full of something into the punch. The punch is supposed to be alcoholic anyway but it tastes worlds better after Porthos' addition.

"Good brandy, my friend." Aramis approves. Porthos grins.

"Richelieu won't be missing it." 

" _Porthos_." Athos' voice makes them both jump. He's got damn cat feet and he knows it. Porthos doesn't bother feigning guilt, just offers Athos a swig straight from the flask which seems to ameliorate the disapproving frown significantly.

"That is far nicer than the swill you usually imbibe. Hennessy XO Cognac if I'm not mistaken." 

"You would know." Porthos shrugs.

"You, my friend, are a marvel." Aramis says, truthful, no one else would dare swipe alcohol from _Richelieu._

"Well, well, look who's finally making an appearance." Porthos' words barely register as Aramis stares at the entrance. 

Jacques has arrived with his right arm around Constance's waist and his left around d'Artagnan. All three look magnificent, dressed up in clothes that have definitely been professionally tailored to their measurements. Jacques is a professional tailor, Aramis remembers and a good one, too, from what Aramis can see. Though it probably helps to have beautiful people to show off said tailored clothes.

He can't look away and not for the usual reasons. Their clothing matches. Oh, they are all wearing something markedly different, different styles, cuts and colours but all complementary. d'Artagnan's shirt matches Constance's dress and both match Jacques’ pocket square.

"Well, that explains some things." Aramis says, once his voice has returned to him. "Our boy does well for himself, doesn't he?" 

Athos looks at him then walks off with a eye roll. Rude.

Porthos offers his flask. Aramis feels like needs the quick swig as his reality shifts into place.

"Good on them." Porthos claps Aramis on the shoulder. "Now, we can't be overshadowed by our rookie. Let's show him what game is." 

Ah, there is nothing like a little friendly competition.

"Already ahead of you." Aramis says, sending a smile and shadowed look through his eyelashes Adele's way.

"Aramis." Porthos sighs.

"I'm not the one who stole Richelieu's brandy." Aramis points out.

"No...just his girl." Porthos mutters. Aramis pretends not to hear, that's just the sound of a loser anyway.

#

Coda:

d'Artagnan pushes open the door with a kick to the base, the damp weather made the wood swell, they probably needed to treat it. He hung up his hat (he'd tried to lose the blasted thing six times already but somehow it always reappeared on his desk, d'Artagnan bet Aramis or Porthos were behind it) and put his gun in the safe.

"Oh, I didn't hear you come in." Jacques says, blinking up from the dining table where he's been working from the looks of all the papers and sketching pencils littering it.

"Busy day?" d'Artagnan asks setting his hands on Jacques’ shoulders and squeezing gently.

"Surprisingly so. I had a client drop in unexpectedly asking for the impossible! I don't know how they think I can tailor up a full wardrobe in one week; I do have other clients too!"

"So a normal day at the office then." d'Artagnan says, amused, stepping away to open up the cupboards. Hmm, one of them really needs to go shopping soon.

"Quite. Oh, I was supposed to be cooking, tonight, wasn't I?" Jacques sighs. "I'll call for take out." He offers, apologetic.

"No, I don't mind cooking." d'Artagnan shrugs. He's sure the last time it was his turn he ended up getting back from work at two in the morning (drugs bust gone wrong) and he found a portion of take out sitting on the table for him.

"Thanks. Constance not back yet?" 

"Treville unexpectedly foisted the annual budget meeting on her for tomorrow so she'll be at work late finishing preparing." d'Artagnan explains. It wasn't the Captain's fault entirely; Richelieu had suddenly appeared and dragged Treville off for important meetings and paperwork so he didn't have the time for 'less' important meetings.

"Ah." 

Jacques goes back to his work, looks like he is sketching out ideas for a dress of some sort, while d'Artagnan chops up some onions, potato, ham, cheese and herbs for omelettes.

He's just setting the pan in the oven when he hears the front door open.

"Good timing." He calls out, getting out the plates.

"Is it?" Constance sounds cross. Jacques and d'Artagnan share a glance and he gets the glasses while Jacques clears the table of his work papers and opens a bottle of wine.

"Oh, something smells nice." Constance says, following her nose into the kitchen, she gives them each a perfunctory kiss on the cheek before plopping down in a chair like she has lost the will to move another step. Her hair is spilling out of her usual neatly pinned plait and she looks frazzled.

Jacques pours her a glass of wine.

"Oh, it is good to be home." She says, once they've scraped up the last of the omelettes, opened a second bottle and relocated to the couch. She kicks her shoes off and slips her legs over d'Artagnan's thighs so her feet rest in Jacques’ lap. Crammed in between the two of them on a sofa not meant for three adults, d'Artagnan feels the stress of a day at the station seep out of him.

"Cheers." He agrees, holding up his glass.

**Author's Note:**

> The hat thing. Is definitely Athos' fault. At first he thought he was being helpful returning d'Artagnan's hat but soon he just did it because he knows d'Artagnan hates it with a passion. Porthos and Aramis just like to mess with d'Artagnan. The whole station is in on it.
> 
> I adore the Constance/d'Artagnan pairing and I thought in a modern AU Constance probably wouldn't have married Jacques. Then this happened. So...


End file.
